


oh love, your soft and tender eyes (I want to tear them out)

by ADyingFlower



Series: I'm only doing this because I love you [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dark Keith (Voltron), Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Obsession, Past Child Abuse, Stalking, Unreliable Narrator, Violent Thoughts, the calm before the storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:39:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: Punching in the door keycode, he keeps his head ducked from the camera pointed over the office. It was why he has a ball cap over his head with his hair all tucked up, as well as an oversized jacket and poorly fitting pants.Shady as all hell, but he knows his face and fingerprints is logged somewhere from his days in the system, so he’s not taking the chance.Crossing the lobby, Keith has to stifle another smile at a memory he's reminded of - a couple weeks after he first met Lance, before he decided Lance was his soulmate. He was still shy and kept his distance from his sweetheart, but that time he gathered up enough courage to find out where Lance lived instead of just following him around on campus and at the coffee house he had his work-study hours at.Do you remember, Lance? We shared an elevator, you held the door open for me. You smiled at me, and commented on the weather. It was rainy out, and I fell in love with you.(Keith retrieves a gift for his beloved)





	oh love, your soft and tender eyes (I want to tear them out)

**Author's Note:**

> 5/12

Keith taps an uneven beat on the steering wheel, staring blankly at the apartment complex at the edge of the city, only a bus drive away from the Garrison. Good neighborhood, mostly white middle class. Low crime rate. Many upper level students live off-campus in the area. Short walk to stores and near the bus station for the university Lance goes to. Went to.

He’s been here before several times in the past couple of months, of course. Only had the courage to do it when he knew for sure the residents would be out of the house for quite some time, and even then it sent his heart racing, pulse thudding dully in his ears as he crept through the dark apartment for whatever that particular visit needed from him.

Though whether that was the act of breaking into someone else’s home, or the thrill of being surrounded by Lance’s things, in Lance’s _room_ , he wasn’t sure. It was unlike him, to indulge himself (recent actions excluded), but he had then. Thrown himself in Lance’s bed, rolled around in those sheets and let delighted shivers wrack themselves down his spine into a warm curling in his gut.

Unfortunately, he didn’t feel safe enough to actually get off right there and then, so he had taken the pictures he needed of Lance’s room and left (with some...additional...articles of clothing), and had taken care of business once he got back to the safety of his shack with Lance’s smell still clinging to his skin.

Idly, he wonders if he should jack off right here (it wasn’t like this area was well populated, and he had tinted windows) to waste some time. He hasn’t brought up the idea of sex just yet to Lance, perfectly content with the cuddling and cheek kisses he can get away with now. Before Lance, masturbation was just a way for him to relax when he was too wound up, but something about Lance makes him actually wanting to make love to him, ground their bodies together until they’re one. He wants Lance to always feel him - top, bottom, he doesn't care - decorate a choker of kiss marks around that lovely neck until it's permanently stained blue because that boy is _his_. 

A dopey smiles comes unbidden to his face. He’s been doing that a lot lately - smiling.

And to think his social worker used to bitch about how unfriendly he was. Maybe she should have introduced him to a certain blue-eyed boy. For a couple of minutes, he amuses himself to think of what it would be like to meet when Keith was still a teenager. If Keith was eighteen instead of twenty and Lance was fifteen instead of seventeen. If Lance would kiss him then, shy little virgin touches in his childhood home's bedroom. If Keith wasn't so fucked in the head that he could bare the thought of others seeing Lance, if he could take him on normal dates, meet his parents and actually make the boy smile. 

Well. It's too late now. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a large form stumbles out of the apartment’s lobby, bent practically in half with their hands deep in their pockets.

“Yesss,” Keith smacks his gum, wiggling in his seat as one of Lance’s previous roommates - Hank? Henry? - leaves the apartment, abandoning it for the first time all day. 

He drugged Lance before he left, but he still doesn’t like leaving him there all day, all tied up and defenseless. And with what happened a couple weeks ago... 

Well, this visit is long overdue, he supposes. 

And while the idea of leaving Lance alone and unable to defend himself unnerves him, Keith would be lying if he says he doesn’t like having Lance vulnerable.

He will be glad when he can trust Lance and let him free to roam around without Keith's constant supervision, don’t get him wrong. It will just be a different kind of vulnerable then - an emotional one, not a physical one.

Picking up the bags he left earlier on the passenger seat, he hums to himself as he hops out of the car, swinging the straps over his shoulders. Hugo-whatever drives by him, oblivious, and Keith doesn’t tempt himself with even a glance towards Haddon's car just in case as he crosses the road. He used to know more about Lance's friends, in case one of them ended up being...a threat. But the instant he had Lance asleep in his backseat and giddy happiness coursing through his veins, he forgot all of it. Who needs useless people? 

He can't even remember their faces. 

_Creepy, weirdo, I don't like the way he stares at us, get out of the fucking corner and act like a goddamn human being, are you Keith Kogane we're sorry to tell you it's about your father, I'll always love you kiddo, you left me you fucking left me for the vultures and they tore me apart, a loud laugh and the smell of the ocean and Keith can't look away you can't ever leave me I never want to be alone it's too fucking painful it's worse than any of the abuse or the insults -_

Punching in the door keycode, he keeps his head ducked from the camera pointed over the office. It was why he has a ball cap over his head with his hair all tucked up, as well as an oversized jacket and poorly fitting pants. 

Shady as all hell, but he knows his face and fingerprints is logged somewhere from his days in the system, so he’s not taking the chance.

Crossing the lobby, Keith has to stifle another smile at a memory he's reminded of - a couple weeks after he first met Lance, before he decided Lance was his soulmate. He was still shy and kept his distance from his sweetheart, but that time he gathered up enough courage to find out where Lance lived instead of just following him around on campus and at the coffee house he had his work-study hours at. 

_Do you remember, Lance? We shared an elevator, you held the door open for me. You smiled at me, and commented on the weather. It was rainy out, and I fell in love with you._

Walking into said elevator, he clicks the floor number for three with a gloved hand and a cheery little whistle. And when the elevator reaches the third floor, he gets out and takes the side stairs down a flight to floor two.

Kneeling down in front of apartment 206, his hands pat around under the welcome mat (on a carpeted hallway? You’re adorable, Lance) and finds the small hole in the seam where they keep their spare key.

“Uck,” He says as he opens the door, waving a hand in front of his face at how fallen to ruin the apartment has gone to in Lance’s absence. Dirty clothes on the floor, unwashed dishes piled on tables, there is even grime on the ceiling fan, jesus. “Geez, it’s been two months, get over it already…”

Keith can’t help but eye the conspiracy board on the wall for a long moment, but there’s nothing of use to him up there. They managed to gather that he was taken from the club, not anywhere else and that the message about Nyma was untrue (fucking bitch, she was his albi and she had to go and cheat on her fucking boyfriend at a hotel for the night, hope she gets an STD), and there’s a blurry picture from a surveillance camera of Keith driving Lance’s car off.

He swallows, begrudgingly a little impressed. But the picture only captures his back with his hood drawn up over his face. They only have his height and gender - and there’s over a million people who live in this city - and he doesn't even technically live within the city's boundaries. Even if they can figure out who was at the Quintessence that night, the club was bopping. Over several hundred people must have been going in and out of those doors.

He’s not worried.

Taking out his first bag (but leaving the second one where it is), he jogs lightly over to Lance’s room, sneezing at all the dust the room has collected. The air is stifling, and Keith can’t help but wrinkle his nose at how much the feeling of the room being preserved like a mausoleum hits him.

Gross. Get over it already, they have families, they have friends. The only thing Keith has is Lance.

They all know Lance is alive and well taken care of, so what’s the big deal?

_Poor baby boy Keith, didn't you hear? Your dad ran into the fire and died, he wanted to get away from you so bad, and your mom hated you so much from the day you were born_

Shaking his head, Keith thumps his palm against his forehead a couple times until the intrusive thoughts go silent. Fuck, he needs Lance. Only Lance can make his head quiet. 

Before Lance, before when his life was actually worth living, he used to have a therapist. He had money to spare, and it seems like the thing people do, when their thoughts are all the place, but it was actually the worst. Pills, pills, pills, he doesn't fucking need those! All they did was make him nauseated and empty inside, nothing like the brightness of Lance's touch or his smile. 

He dumped them all down the toilet a week after meeting Lance, and he hasn't regretted it since. 

_Don't look at me like that, I'm not fucking sick Lance. I don't need help, shut up, shut up SHUT UP SHUT. UP._

Shrugging it aside, he crouches down next to Lance’s bed, digging his hand underneath it for the shoebox Lance told him about a couple days ago during their daily cuddle session. His darling probably admitted it to him in the hope he would get caught and for them to rescue Lance away from the only person who could love him like he does.

Cute. So cute. Keith wants to both ride him into the mattress and strangle that pretty neck of his blue.

Sure enough, everything Lance wanted was in the box. A wad of cash (he really had to buy Lance some new clothes, he looked adorable wearing Keith’s but he was too long-limbed), some family pictures, a cute couple of memorabilias. There was even a switchblade, he notes with some interest. Nothing like his own knives, but useful enough for camping or something.

He should ask about that, sometime. If Lance had ever gone camping. Hopefully it’ll make him smile at the memories rather than start crying like last time - he much prefers his warmth than anything else. Though - he supposes he'll have him crying than not at all, when he puts it into that perspective. 

Next was to grab Lance’s favorite hoodie with a chemistry joke on the front, left bundled on the floor. His high school senior yearbook, and his favorite well loved novels, his sweetheart's messy penmanship scrawled in the margins. He knows Lance also requested a couple of posters, and maybe his blanket, but they were both kind of tacky and hard to carry, so he’ll just lie and say he didn't have time.

Now for the hard part.

“C’mon kitty kitty!” Keith croons to the air, feeling kind of stupid. The things people do for love, he supposes.

He makes the clicking sound he hears people make on youtube to their cats (and caught Lance doing once or twice when he wanted to grab Keith's attention quickly, mostly whenever Keith forgot whatever was cooking on the stove when he was focused on doting on his lover. They've had a few close accidents), and hears a soft meow from down the hallway.

Zipping up the first bag, he grins as he unzips the second bag.

To be honest, he muses as he follows Blue’s innocent whines, he’s not a major fan of taking Lance’s cat. Keith likes animals well enough, but at the same time, he doesn’t want Lance’s attention on anyone but him.

Jealousy. Another emotion Lance has taught him.

Smiling to himself, he walks down the hallways with purpose.

He wonders how many more emotions Lance will teach him. Whatever they are, he’s looking forward to it.

-

Getting the damn cat was a hassle, and left him with a couple scratches on his arm for the troubles. Hissing, he shakes the fabric cat carrier harshly, smirking to himself as Blue howls within it.

“I should just run you over,” He spits out, rattling the cage one more time. “Throw you out the fucking window and see if cats really do land on their feet.”

Keith takes a glance at said window, but pouts a little bit as he realizes that he so does not want to be cleaning cat guts off the sidewalk. It’s supposed to look like the cat escaped, not that someone was in the house and promptly threw the cat out the window. The cat they're not supposed to have, naughty boy Lance. Maybe he'll have to scold him later for breaking the rules like that, but no punishments.

He's had enough of punishments for a lifetime. 

_Troublemakers like you deserve something worse than a spankin', huh? Maybe the belt will whip you into shape, boy_

He’s sure someone will figure that some of Lance’s things are missing eventually, but from the state of that room, it’ll be a while.

Idiots.

Leaving the door open behind him just a crack, he bends down and slips the key back inside the mat. They’re good people, Lance’s old friends, so he genuinely hopes they get over Lance soon. For their sake, and Lance’s sake as well.

Keith doesn’t want to get rid of them. He’s never found himself to be much of a violent person, beyond school yard fights and teenage rebellion. But love changes people, he muses as he gathers up his bag, strapping the cat carrier over his shoulder and swinging the duffel bag with his free hand.

For their fragile happiness and desert nights with a warm body snuggled under his chin, for tan fingers intertwined with his own pale ones, for the rare laughs he’s managed to get out of him and the white of his sweetheart’s teeth.

For Lance, he would do anything.

And as Keith walks through the lobby of the apartment, he nods a greeting towards Hector, only smiling smugly when the big man has already passed him on his way towards the elevator. The guy seems sweet enough, and he knows the short one has moments of kindness too, if Lance's stories are any indication.

Yet as Keith climbs into his car, giving one last measured stare at the apartment building, he finds he doesn’t have it within himself to care.

If they get in his way, he'll kill them.

But for now, he has a damn cat to get home, and the urge to see if Lance’s inner thighs are as soft as the rest of his skin is.

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Murder


End file.
